


In Dreams

by ElderberryWine



Series: Grey Hills and Green [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Part of the Grey Hills and Green series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderberryWine/pseuds/ElderberryWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has made his choice, but it hasn't always been easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams

The peal of silvery laughter rang out suddenly, and Sam couldn't help but smile. But he quickly hid the errant expression, and tried his best to look vaguely about, with great sternness. "Is there not a body to be found, here?" he questioned, seemingly, the bright blue sky. "There'd be a platter of fresh blueberry scones in the kitchen, just out of the oven, but it seems as though I'd be eatin' them all to meself."

That won't take long, he thought to himself, with a certain amount of self-satisfaction, and indeed, it did not. There was a rustle deep from the base of the luxuriant bean bush, and then a small sturdy body burst out and aimed itself at him in a rush of golden curls and white petticoats. With another squeal of glee, the small creature wrapped herself firmly about his leg, and looked up at him with merry hazel eyes, the very portrait of her mother at her age.

"You never be knowin' I'd be there," she pronounced with the greatest of surety, and of course, who was Sam to deny that certainty?

"Me dear, you'd best not be startling old hobbits such as myself so," he chided her playfully, and totally undermining his stern remonstrance, swung her up into the air as she threw herself back in his sure clasp and shrieked in delight. But the lure of blueberry scones was not to be denied for long, and in a moment she was on the ground again and tugging him towards the smial.

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

"Come along, Uncle Samwise, how can you be so slow?" The young hobbit turned, on the verge of becoming a tween and still all gawky arms and legs, and gave him a long-suffering but patient look. "The sun will be high, soon enough, and I'd rather not be in that blackberry thicket then. 'Tis hard work, at any time, but the worst when the sun is hot."

" 'Twas a time, lad, but no matter," he muttered affectionately, his memories too full of other times, and other voices. "You go along now, and I'll be followin' as best I may."

With infinite, and only slightly obvious, patience, his nephew waited for the slower older hobbit to catch up with him, and thoughtfully held the prickly branches, along the path, to the side for him. "Just you wait here, now, and I'll get those berries in the back then. No sense in prickin' the both of us up, noways."

Well, there was sense enough in that, and Sam waited for the lad to reappear, scratched, sweaty, and disheveled, and with a bucket full of berries and a triumphant grin. Oh, there had been a time… Sam suddenly felt the ridiculous tears of old age rising up, but successfully hid them as he stiffly rose from the wall on which he had been sitting, and made as if to chastise the harvester.

"I'd never thought t'see you again, lad, and here's your mother just awaitin' t'make a pie, and nary a berry t'be doin' that with."

But the tall handsome lad just laughed, too full of his success, and far too fond of his uncle to take offense, and draping a casual arm about his shoulder, slowed his pace to match Sam's as they started back for the smial.

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

"Just for a moment, Sam, see what can be done w'the lass," her mother exclaimed with an exhausted sigh. "The bread is risen, and I must be punchin' it down, and the rest are due home soon enough, and there's not a vegetable in the soup yet. How a body's to do it all, I'm sure I don't know, but there's naught to be done with a fauntling in my arms, t'be sure."

Sam had been laboriously writing out his speech for the next Hobbiton town meeting, for it always made him feel better to have something in his hand, whether he actually read it or no, but the plea of a desperate mother was one that could not be ignored. So he received the awkward red-faced bundle, with its high-pitched complaint, and settling it comfortably against his sturdy chest, gave it an experienced pat or two. With a loud hiccup, and a final wail of protest, the small bundle was quickly reduced to the occasional sniffle, and Sam felt inordinately pleased. In a low voice, he began to hum a tune, exactly what, he knew not, but his audience appeared to be satisfied with the effort. She gave a last mighty yawn, and one last soft bleat, and her eyes slowly slid closed, as the tiny hand stretched open once again and then closed firmly about Sam's weskit collar.

Well, the speech would do as it was, he decided with a rueful smile. It wasn't as if folk really paid a mind to it, as long as the post-meeting refreshments were up to their usual high caliber, and the keg of spring beer was flowing. Settling himself comfortably in his favorite chair with his precious bundle, he and his charge were both soundly asleep in no time.

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

He awoke with a start, his face wet with tears, and carefully sat up in bed. The moon, full and silver this night, shone through the slightly open window, and he instinctively turned toward the other occupant of the bed. But he need not have been concerned.

Frodo was lying on his side facing him, his breathing steady as he slept, and his arm outstretched. Sam had been lying on that arm, just a moment before, but Frodo's sleep was deep and peaceful, and the removal of Sam from his embrace seemed not to have disturbed him at all.

Sam watched the calm rise and fall of his chest for a few moments, and the way the moonlight picked up the occasional strand of silver in those dark curls, and made them reflect the light that still, yes, even now, could be seen in that serene countenance.

There would be no sleep for him though, not for awhile. Cautiously he left the warm feather bed and picked up his robe, dark, soft and silken, and threw it about him self as he left the room. Through the smial he walked, his steps sure in the steadfast knowledge of where every well-polished stone in the floor was, until he found himself on the doorstep where he, opening the door, sat down and stared unseeingly into the early dawn.

 

There was no decision that he had ever made that he had, eventually, come to regret. He had given his heart freely, and without reserve, and had never been sorry for the course his life had taken. He had offered his life over to love, had followed that love through joy and unimaginable grief, and had ended up on the far side of the world, where he never would have dreamt himself to be, all for the sake of that love. There had been pain and heartbreak, such as he never could have thought bearable, yet there had never been an alternative. He had loved Frodo with all his heart, whether or no, and what had followed from that must be accepted.

But here they both were, together once again, at the end of the world and beyond time itself, and he could not understand why it should hurt him so that they had had to give up the peaceful lives they had once possessed. And yet it did. It was a graciously beautiful land in which they now lived, and he hoped that he was properly appreciative of the honor that had been bestowed upon Frodo and him, but that still did not mend its deficits.

So Sam sat in the cold grey dawn and wiped the tears, of which he would never let Frodo know, from his cheeks as he mourned the faces that he would never see again, the laughing voices that would never gladden his heart again, and the secure sense of home that had gone forever. Frodo meant everything to him, and always had and forever would, and he never would regret having followed him so far from all he had ever known, but they were alone and the sun rose from over the sea, bitter and red, and from the wrong direction.


End file.
